


Barnum

by ChloShow



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Disordered Eating, Drugs, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloShow/pseuds/ChloShow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nacho visits the new offices of Wexler & McGill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barnum

The waiting room’s painted a noxious yellow with seating around the perimeter framed under a rainbow. Two end tables flank one couch, and a coffee table offers Reader’s Digest, Woman’s World, People, and a TV guide. The law offices of Wexler & McGill don’t have a television yet, but they have a receptionist, two lawyers, and at the moment, the slowest cases imaginable.

And by "slow cases," he meant literally slow. The waves of elderly clients spoke and moved at a glacial pace, and despite his moxie, Jimmy McGill's patience had its limits. He sits by his phone, pouring over standard will arrangements and tapping his pen against his teeth, waiting for a distraction from their receptionist, Francesca, to inform him about something more...fast paced?  The commercial had also brought him a few crackpots and one earnest mother worried about her son’s drug problem. Mrs. Pinkman was a perfectly fine, upstanding woman, but bringing in her son’s pot stash to ask how much jail time he could possibly get wasn’t going to pay the bills or require the legwork Jimmy didn't realize he missed so much.

Davis & Main was paying the bills, and Jimmy’s bonus wasn’t endless. Kim had work to wade through before she could turn a profit, seeing as they’d taken a gamble renting the offices, buying furniture, paying for a commercial slot, and hiring a receptionist as well as a paralegal for the Mesa Verde deal.

The commercial was the one thing he had going for him. He couldn’t expend any extra time (or money for that matter) drumming up business with Chuck now living in an assisted living facility. Because of Chuck building a (fruitless) case against HHM for firing him and requiring his brother's assistance, Jimmy's time was stretched between work and more work. The irony that Chuck was fired for bringing up his "Great Jimmy Conspiracy" to Hamlin was not lost on him. 

Worse still was the problem with Kim. She kept her nose to the grindstone, immersing herself in her work to distract from the guilt she felt covering up for Jimmy’s crimes. He’d promised never to tell her about fabricating evidence, taking bribes, smoking young Jesse Pinkman’s pot stash almost immediately after his mother left the premises. But he didn’t have to tell her about tampering with the Mesa Verde documents for her to find out, and if Jimmy had to guess, she was counting down the days until the lease terminated.

Everything tasted like regret, which was another way of saying he’d been drinking too much. Temperance was a thing of the past. What had the Second Great Awakening and Prohibition done for James Morgan McGill, huh? Nothing. In fact, he should stop by the store for a box of Sno-Caps after work to top off the day.

Conversation from the lobby perks up Jimmy’s ears, and he sneaks to his door to eavesdrop.

“How can I help you?”

“I need to see Jimmy McGill.”

There’s a pause as Francesca ruffles through the papers at her desk, “Ah, sorry, you’re not scheduled for an appointment today. Would you like me to pencil you in right now while I call Mr. McGill?”

“Listen, I don’t want an appointment. Just tell him it’s Nacho, okay?”

Jimmy exits his office, casually pretending not to have heard anything, “Oh, Francesca, I was wondering—Oh, Nacho! _Ignacio Varga_ , good to see you again. You haven’t been waiting out here too long have you?” His rehearsed performance throws Nacho off balance and makes Francesca roll her eyes while the two men shake hands perfunctorily. “Could I interest you in some coffee? Francesca was _just about_ to put on another pot—“

“I don’t make coffee for you, Jimmy. That’s not what you pay me for. You pay me to schedule appointments and redirect phone calls.”

“ _I_ don’t pay you. _Me_ and _Ms. Wexler_ pay you, and I don’t think Ms. Wexler would appreciate the sass you dole out on a daily basis. Besides, you should be more grateful we were the only place of employment that would accept you after those charges against--”

Nacho stops the exchange, desperate to escape the tension boiling between employee and employer, “I don’t need any coffee. Can we just—“ He cuts his eyes to Jimmy’s office door to indicate privacy.

“Very well then. After you,” Jimmy gestures for Nacho to enter first, and he follows his client without giving a second glance at the receptionist booth before closing the door behind them.

Jimmy passes Nacho and takes a seat at his obscenely expensive desk, “Sorry about that whole song and dance. I have an image to maintain.”

The other man stalls, feeling out Jimmy’s new territory then sitting in a stiff office chair, “What image? You look like an undertaker at the circus.”

“It’s been so long. I forgot what a smart mouth you have,” Jimmy forces a chuckle, “By the way, did you happen to see my commercial?”

“Yes,” Nacho grins, remembering how his father fell asleep in his recliner with the television on. When he went to turn the dial and fetch his father a blanket, he thought for a moment the red, white, and blue filling the screen must’ve been the channel signing off for the night until he heard the lawyer’s familiar cadence delivering a sales’ pitch, “That wasn’t a real WWII war hero was it?”

“You know what they say: There’s a sucker born every minute—not that you’re a sucker. And by ‘they,’ I mean P.T. Barnum, the man who convinced America mermaids existed.”

“Listen, McGill, I don’t know if you’re still straight or what, but you’re the only person I could think to come to for the specific problem I have.”

“I’m listening,” Jimmy leans back, fingers steepled.

“I can’t tell you any of this unless I know whether or not you’re legally obligated to turn me over to the police.”

“Nacho, relax. I’m not a rat. My lips are sealed,” he zips his lips and mimes throwing something away. God, was he mentioning mouths too much? That was the one thing Jimmy couldn’t stop focusing on with Nacho in front of him. Well, that and his eyes, hands, earring, and muscular torso peeping out from under his client’s jacket/tank-top combo…He makes eye contact with the picture of Kim on his desk and quickly looks away.

“Are you sure? Because last time we talked—“

“Last time we talked I was a different man. Okay? Now, what’s your ‘specific problem?’ ”

Sweeping the lawyer over with a suspicious eye, Nacho decides this Jimmy _is_ different than the one he helped kidnap not too long ago. Just as neurotic, but more sure of himself, “I’m running a little side business Tuco doesn’t know about, and now that Tuco is going to prison, my side business is growing into my main business—“

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re scamming the _cartel_.”

Nacho shoots him a cold glare.

“Sorry, continue your story.”

“So, I’m clearing a lot of profit, but the problem is, I have nowhere to stash it. The local branch of the cartel launders their money in this ice cream parlor, but I don’t know any businesses that would do the same for me, especially while risking conflict with the Salamancas.”

“You want me to help you launder money,” Jimmy reiterates and expounds before Nacho can verbalize his pissed off ‘ _you-told-me-I-could-trust-you’_ look, “See, you really need a business, preferably one that doesn’t trust cops. I could keep some of your money in my safe here, but I can already tell you won’t like that. Hmmm, are you sure you’ve gone through all your options? You don’t know anyone, I mean _anyone_ at all that owns a business and could keep a secret.”

The pause Nacho takes gives away his reservations, and Jimmy runs with it.

“You do know a place, don’t you? You’re just not willing to use it for some reason.” Jimmy silently enjoys his victory as he watches Nacho avert his gaze, “Let me tell you, Nacho, buddy, you’re as good as finished if you don’t have a place for your money.”

“It’s my dad’s shop. I promised I’d never bring him into my business, and I’m standing by that promise.”

Ah, the criminal with a heart of gold! “If I know anything, I know fathers and their small businesses,” visions of Cicero and his dad’s corner shop flash into his mind, “Speaking from experience, fathers may be great parents but not the wisest business men. Am I right? How’s your father’s shop doing?”

Nacho hesitates before deciding to reveal his personal life to Jimmy, “He’s too generous. Some people call him a sucker, but I try and do right by him, tell him to stick to his prices, demand more money upfront. He takes things on good faith, and then people never repay him,” while vouching for his father, he spots genuine sympathy in Jimmy’s eyes.

“So money’s tight, huh? I suggest you think about integrating your little side business into your father’s shop, fudging the ledger, and both you and dear old dad benefit.”

Nacho doesn’t respond, his shoulders tense with the temptation to follow Jimmy’s instructions.

“You don’t have to decide right now. It’s a big risk putting pops into the equation, but I’m telling ya, it’s close to the only option.”

After another second of deliberation, Nacho sighs and rises from his chair, “I’ll keep in touch.”

As Nacho heads toward the door, Jimmy musters up the courage to mention his fee.

“Hey, as heavy as this decision is for you right now, I have to remind you that my legal counsel isn’t free.”

A spark flicks across Nacho’s pensive face as he thinks of a response, “Bill me.”

With the click of the door closing, Jimmy allows himself a small celebration, embracing the small rush of adrenaline triggered by Nacho's arrival. As terrifying as it was to be one degree removed from the cartel, he felt that his true talents were finally being utilized. 

**Author's Note:**

> Major edits after 2x10 "Klick." Always wanna keep my stuff in line with cannon.


End file.
